A/N: The original titel of this fanfiction is "Bitch" but I didn't name it that because that's hardly rated K (I don't want to be reported). Actually I wanted to write some other stuff today - another Briz story, some Cena/Wade, the 2nd chapter of Curiosity - but none of that really worked out... so that is how I cleared my mind. I own nothing and I don't earn anything either. Enjoy.

Warning: sex

Damn, they weren't in the air for ten minutes and he was already pissed. The flight attendant had bugged him for the first five or so minutes, asking if he wanted anything, if she should bring him a glass of water, or if he maybe needed a blanket against the chill of the air condition. She had looked at him like a deer caught in the headlights when he had told her to kindly fuck the hell off – asking himself if the woman couldn't take a no for what it was or if she was simply too bleach-blond to notice that he didn't want to fuck her in the tiny-as-hell excuse for a restroom the plane offered its passengers.

Cursing under his breath Phil drew the hood of his hoodie further down into his face. At times liked these he missed his long hair, the black strands hiding his face as if they were made for exactly this purpose. But yeah, struck by a sudden bolt of creative genius – at least that was how they seemed to think of hit – someone of the writers had decided that his hairdo needed a makeover, one that had to be done in the ring, on live TV, by a guy who apparently couldn't even handle a fucking razor –well, it wasn't like the little Mexican crybaby had had any hair to practice on.

He growled and plugged his earplugs into his ears. This was just not his day, not his week, not his month, not his year, not his damn life.

Some sleep probably would've done him some good, but trying to sleep when the stewardesses eyed you like they'd rape you the moment you closed your eyes was like lying naked in a bed beside Jeff Hardy – even if you managed to fall asleep against all odds you woke up an hour later with nightmares that wouldn't leave you alone for as long as you lived. Phil gratefully declined.

The other thing that kept him from some well needed rest was the pair of eyes that had been boring into the back of his head for a few minutes now. At first he tried to ignore whoever was staring at him, knowing that it was most likely a crazy fan or – worse – another bleach-blond bimbo who was keen on having his dick in her cunt. The girl, he knew it was a woman, was persistent however and just kept staring.

It was 27 minutes past midnight and he already hated this day.

Finally giving in he turned his head to glare into the eyes of the bitch that wasn't able to mind her own fucking business. To his surprise brown eyes held his gaze, not blinking, simply staring at him.

She wasn't his type – blonde, average height, slim, not more than a B-Cup, nice legs, a strong jawline and a look in her eyes that practically dared him to fuck her through whatever surface he choose to have her on … oh yeah she wasn't his type, not today where a woman that damn demanding was too tiring for him to handle.

He thought she would back down once he returned her gaze, but of course the bitch was too stubborn to simply look way when he caught her staring. A part of his brain – the part that didn't care that he was not in the mood for sex and got horny nonetheless – told him to simply go over there, put her over his knee and give her a good hard spanking, while the other part – the one that told him that she wasn't worth the drama and that he could just fuck some random Straight Edge ringrat if he wanted to get off so badly – advised him to just turn his head and ignore her.

Deciding on the easier option Phil broke eye contact and simply stared at the headrest of the seat in front of him. With the knowledge that he had a long day ahead of him he decided to at least doze for the few hours the flight would take.

When the hand of the flight attendant – who told him that they were back on the ground – on his shoulder startled him, he knew that his slumber had been deeper than he'd anticipated. Wrenching away from the blond woman's fingers he got up and stretched a little. At least he would sleep in his own bed tonight.

The moment he stepped away from his seat he sensed the eyes that were again staring holes into his back. Didn't the woman have anything better to do than to stare at him the entire flight? Obviously she hadn't – and he couldn't even really resent her for it when the only other thing to look at were flight attendants with false boobs, walls of make-up in their faces and too much Clorox in their hair.

Trying to ignore the bitch – as he had already dubbed her in his mind – Phil made his way to the exit of the plane. He managed to walk down the stairs without getting into a shoving contest with any of the other passengers, letting out a relieved sigh when his feet touched the familiar ground of O'Hare Airport. Home sweet home.

He turned around in time to – for the second time today – make eyes contact with the blond bitch that still didn't know when to better turn away her gaze. Staring right back he gave her the finger, "Fuck off, bitch!" and the woman had the gall to simply shoot him a cocky grin before she turned around and started to walk off, totally ignoring him now.

Her smug expression that would have been intriguing on any other day was now simply the last straw of his already thin patience. He caught up with her in two steps, gripped the woman hard by the shoulder and spun her around.

"How about you just mind your own business?" the words were hissed between clenched teeth and on another day Phil would maybe have been startled at the poison in his voice, but right now he just didn't care.

A hand closed around his wrist, holding it in a vice like grip when she tore his hand from her shoulder – he was a little astonished at how someone her stature could have that much strength in their arm. Looking him straight in the eye once more her grip tightened to the point where it actually hurt, short fingernails sinking as far into his flesh as possible.

Snarling he tore his hand away, her fingers brushing against his when their hands broke apart.

"You don't like to be stared at?" a malicious grin found its way on her lips, "I really hope this bruises by tomorrow."

He wanted her, there on the spot. He wanted to fuck the damn woman senseless, to burry himself inside her until his balls slapped against her ass. Fuck.

Without another word Phil grabbed her with his unscathed hand and tugged the bitch along, not caring what the other passengers thought about his behavior. They could go fuck themselves as far as he was concerned.

To her credit she didn't as much as flinch, a low sensual chuckle behind him being the only thing that indicated that he wasn't the only one of the two of them who looked forward to a really good fuck.

~~x~~

The door snapped shut behind them, making room for a moment of tense silence between him and the bitch.

He honestly didn't know why he had even brought her to his house instead of taking the easier route and simply renting a hotel room for the night. Now he would've to get rid of her in the morning – because fleeing from his own home because there was a woman lying in his bed really wasn't an option … was it?

"Want something to drink?" he kicked his bag into a corner, deciding to act the host.

She followed him into kitchen, "Coke?"

Turning around he shoot her a disgusted look and the blond woman only rolled her eyes. Strangely enough there seemed to be only few words needed between them.

"Water, Pepsi, beer, vodka … that's about it." Straight Edge meant that he didn't drink any alcohol, but some of his friends still did and he almost always had something in store. A few bottles of beer and the one bottle of vodka someone – he still didn't know who – had left after his birthday party. He sent her a curious glance.

"Let me see that bottle of vodka." she returned his look, a strange gleam hidden behind her brown eyes.

Without another word he fished said bottle out of a cabinet and placed a glass beside it, leaning against the counter to watch what she was about to do. She could drink as much as she wanted - he didn't need to kiss her when he fucked her and even if she got shitfaced he'd simply take her here on the counter, drunk as she may be. Yes, he really had no conscience.

Ignoring him, she picked the bottle up and inspected the label. A smile tugged at her lips when she finally poured herself a glass – Phil was a bit astonished that the glass was only filled about two fingers wide.

"Ah." a soft sigh left her lips when she downed the glass in one go, "The good stuff."

He sent her a disdainful grin, "Don't want more? Or is your tolerance that low that you're plastered after only a glass?"

She shot him an odd glance, "My uncle was hooked on drugs; he died from a golden shot. My other uncle was an alcohol addict and a chain smoker, he died from brain cancer. My great aunt tried to stop smoking her whole life. She never managed, died of lung cancer. If addiction is hereditary I have it … I'm not dumb enough to test it."

For a few moments they just stared at each other in silence.

A false apology was already on his lips but Phil realized that it didn't matter before the words had time to leave his mouth. She didn't want one and he had no need to utter one. It wasn't his business what the woman did and what not – he wasn't the savior of the whole damn world, even if they tried to make him on occasions.

"Cat got your tongue?" her tone was mocking, the blond woman now leaning on the counter across from him.

They stared at each other, both standing in the exact same posture – arms crossed in front of their chests, head tilted back just a little bit, daring the other to make the first move. She wriggled her eyebrows at him before her gaze dropped down to his left hand. "Still hurts, doesn't it?" He bared his teeth in return, what earned him an amused snicker from the woman opposite him.

She took a step away from the counter and stretched languidly. Giving him a wink she turned on her heel and walked into the direction of the master bedroom – what lead him to the question if she had just guessed right or if this was one of those women-things he would never understand even if he tried.

When she noticed that he wasn't following her she paused and titled her head so that she could see him from the corner of her eyes, "What are you waiting for? Finer weather? …or are you finally realizing that you can't take me on?"

He was on her an instant later, grabbing her hands with his own and slamming them to the wall in her back, his body pressing hers against the hard surface without mercy. Her body molded into his instantly, hips grinding against each other, her breasts rubbing along his chest and sending a shiver of arousal down his spine.

"What did you just say?" he growled against her lips, their mouths so close that their breaths mingled. Damn, he wanted to kiss her. He wanted a lot more than to kiss her, actually.

"You…" her lips brushed against his, a pink tongue darting out to trace the corner of his mouth, "can't…" teeth started to nibble at his lower lip, making him gasp into their almost kiss, "take me." and with that she had slipped from his grasp, leaving him standing in front of his kitchen-wall like an idiot. "Bitch!"

Cursing under his breath he chased after her.

When he finally found her she was sitting on his bed, legs crossed in front of her, a cocky grin on her face. How this damn woman could carry such an aura of arrogance around her was beyond him, but her cocky demeanor only made him want her even more. He would show the bitch her place – below him on the mattress, moaning, with his hard cock as deep inside her as physically possible.

Within seconds he was on the bed beside her. Her hand shoot out and grabbed his hurt left wrist, gripping tightly until a pained moan escaped his lips and he fisted his other hand in her blonde hair, clashing their mouths together in a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. They both weren't at their best – far from it to be exact – but neither of them cared about things as trivial as how a perfect kiss should be done.

Pulling her head back to expose her throat his teeth descended on the tender skin, licking, biting, bruising, marking what was his in a way he rarely ever did. "Mine." He wasn't usually possessive – rather the opposite, he liked his women best when they had already left when he awoke – but something about her set him off. He wanted her, and at the moment he wasn't keen on the idea of sharing what was his with anybody else.

A hand on his shirt distracted him enough to let go of her throat and look into her face. Blazing brown eyes returned his gaze, holding it for a moment before they simultaneously started to rip off each other's clothing, not caring if the cloths remained whole or not, discarding the useless pieces of fabric all over the floor.

After the cloths were gone their mouths fused seemingly on their own, tongues dueling, teeth clashing with the force behind the kiss when their lips meet again, and again, and again, their breaths coming in short gasps.

Her fingers ranked down his back, leaving red, burning marks on his skin in their wake while his hands grabbed her hips almost painfully hard. With one calculated movement he turned them around and pressed her body into the mattress, not giving her the chance to throw him off – and she certainly tried, even going as far as snapping at him, her teeth barely missing his neck. Hellcat.

Their mouths clashed again, but this time it did nothing to muffle the moan that escaped her lips when dove inside her. For an instant they both remained motionless before she suddenly started to snap her hips up, pushing him even deeper inside her. "Bitch!" his snarl turned into a moan the moment it left his lips, and he heard her chuckle.

Closing his eyes he let it slide, throwing his head back when he started to trust in earnest. All rational thoughts left his mind and then he just lost himself in them.

~~x~~

When he awoke in the morning, the first thing he noticed was that he had only gotten about four hours of decent sleep. The second thing was that his hip hurt like hell and the third thing was that his mouth tasted of emetic nausea and something disgusting that had to be vodka.

Then he turned around and found the bed empty beside him – Phil knew that there was reason he liked this woman. There was no trace that she had been here with him for the night, expect for the tousled sheets on the bed and the claw marks that tingled on his back when he moved to lay on his side.

He looked around his empty bedroom for a few seconds before he saw the ice pack that sat on the opposite nightstand. Frowning, brow arched in question, he looked at the item, not really sure what to make of it – the only thing he did know, was that the woman had been at his fridge and he hoped for her own good that his Häagen Dazs cookies & cream ice-cream was still in there.

The ice hadn't started to melt yet, so she couldn't have been gone for more than twenty minutes. Curious why she had left him this of all things he sat up, started to make his way across the bed and groaned in anguish when a sudden bolt of pain shot up his arm the moment he supported his full weight with his left hand.

"I really hope this bruises by tomorrow."

"Bitch!" he rolled over to the right side of the bed and snatched the ice pack off the nightstand with his good hand. The cool ice felt marvelous against his black and blue skin. Damn, the woman sure had a death-grip.

Only when he leaned back against the headboard did he see the white sheet of paper that had been lying under the ice pack – where had she found an empty sheet of paper in his house? Hell, he never found one when he searched for one.

Shaking his head he read the short note "My name is not bitch.". A cell phone number was scrawled carelessly underneath the few words.

Phil grinned.

No clinging, no declarations of love, no promises. Oh yeah, he liked her.

Who she is? I honestly don't know, the girl was a spur of the moment character.